


The Dance of Love & Death

by Subtleladybird



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Anxiety, Blood, Chance Meetings, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guns, M/M, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Depression, Secret Identity, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Violence, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-18 03:21:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14844693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subtleladybird/pseuds/Subtleladybird
Summary: They were prisoners of their respective worlds, shackled by the blood on their hands and caged in by their sins and responsibilities. A fated encounter in Barcelona brings them together, giving them a taste of what they've been missing their entire lives. Would their secrets shatter their chances at a happy ending?♥"May I have this dance, Yuuri?"Who was he to deny this man such a request?





	1. Chapter 1

**♥**  

**•• » Yuuri « ••**  
  


Fairytales are stories woven in magic and beauty. Fairytales recount stories of a beautiful life, where the evil goes down, and the good always wins, where happy endings spin the closing scene. Yuuri would never forget the tales his mother recounted to him when he was young, the legend of the princess who found her prince charming in a ball, the myth of the mermaid who fell in love with a human, and many others just as similar, just as captivating, and as utterly awe-inspiring.

The child in him grew up believing in happy endings, in hope and in the good of the world. He used to trust that justice would always prevail, but as he grew up, becoming accustomed to the life of the Yakuza, witnessing death and bloodshed, the adult in him learnt to accept the reality, to forget the stories he once loved. There is no such thing as a happy ending, and the world is not kind. True love doesn't exist, and true love's kiss doesn't heal wounds.

"Yuuri, are you ready?"

The boy in him wanted to scream his fears into the sky, to shout and cry tears of his fading innocence. The man in him, the criminal, the Yakuza turned to face his sister, lips curled in a small, reassuring smile. The truth was a secret he shared with no one; instead, he kept it safe in his chest, and the lie was the one the man declared out loud, promising the family results he never wanted to achieve.

Yuuri dreamt of another world, a fairytale where he danced through his life and enjoyed the world around him. A story of innocence and peace that ceased to exist in this bitter existence.

"You know you don't have to do this, kiddo." His laughter echoed inside of his head, mocking the bitterness of the words, mocking his reality, yet the sound was never heard aloud, leaving the world quiet, stripped of sounds that threatened the silence of their existence.

"You know I must, nee-chan, no one else is fit enough to do it, and nothing short of absolute success is acceptable." And how galling was the truth? He never wanted to kill, never wished to take life, but as contradictive as it was, he was good at it; good enough to be the only person capable of assassinating the leader of the Bratva. He was shackled by an ability honed through gruelling training and a life he could never escape. He was in a dark cage, with no future and no chance to be anything but a killer, a criminal and a man who toys with people lives.

And if he fails, then he would never return to the world that stripped him of a future of his own, that stripped him of his identity as sweet Yuuri and shaped him into the Yakuza Katsuki Yuuri.

"Any updates from Russia?" The anxious version of himself was pushed behind steel walls, locked inside of him to draw on the fake exterior of confidence, to play an act that he has long since perfected. At that moment Katsuki Yuuri transformed from the shy, emotional boy to the confident leader; the future Wakagashira of the Katsuki clan.

The heat of the lighter was irrelevant compared to the hue of red and orange that illuminated the space between them. Painting Mari in a beautiful image, drawing the portrait of a female warrior as the red and orange hue reflected against her skin, the shadows of the flame dancing on her body and the unspoken words in her eyes. It was a scene that never ceased to captivate Yuuri, to catch his breath; even when he would always hate the reality that would follow the end of that fleeting moment.

The scent of the burning cigarette flooded through his senses, poisoning him as the light of the lighter died down, replaced by the smoke rising into the open sky. He scrunched his nose, the gesture showing his disdain to the habit that was slowly stripping Mari of her life.

"We received confirmed intel, we have the Pakhan's plans, he'll be in Barcelona in two weeks, and as per the pieces of information we have, his protection will be lax; as a show of trust and friendship to the Crispino Group."

Copper eyes darkened with the veil of night, gaze shifting to the sky, counting the dots of faint lights in the dark carpet. There was a short moment of silence, a fleeting instant that died down before it lingered, blown away by the gush of air leaving Yuuri's chest. "Then it is confirmed, I'll be leaving for Barcelona in the morning."

There were no tears, no visible reaction. Yuuri lingered in his spot, watching the sky and tracking the stars with curious eyes, his chocolate orbs were flicked with gold, his gaze and thoughts hidden from Mari's studying eyes. She stomped on her cigarette, letting the flame die under the sole of her shoes before walking away, leaving the younger man standing there, pondering his upcoming fate.

Space and the ticking minutes were all it took for the obscurity to crawl its way through him, to spread inside of him, infecting him with the fear that was slowly eating at him. The tension wrapped around his heart, squeezing the organ until he was left breathless, struggling to breathe and battling away the tears that blurred his vision and threated to leak.

_He doubted he'd be able to succeed._

_He didn't trust that he'd survive._

Katsuki Yuuri believed in the monster screaming in his head, accepted the words of the creature who looked like him. At that moment, he recognised that he was a dead man walking.

_The future Wakagashira was sentenced to die in 14 days._

Yuuri could only hope for the time to pass fast, for the hours and days to tick away before the fear chocked him, and before it killed him from the inside out. Dying by a bullet for his family would account for more than dying by his own demons.

  

• ♠ • 

**•• » Viktor « ••**  
  


The sound of a gunshot wasn't as loud as it was made out to be in movies, not when the gun was no bigger than a pistol, hugged in the hand that was squeezing the trigger. The sound echoed around them, surprising them out of their haze, killing the pleas of forgiveness that reverberated in the spacious room before the body tumbled forward onto the marble floor, blood gushing out of his head to splash against fair skin and gloved hands.

Ten years ago, Viktor fired a gun against a human for the first time. Ten years ago, he stood shaking and heaving as he watched the light fade out from his victim's eyes, but now, at the age of twenty-seven, as the Pakhan of the Bratva, he stood unblinkingly, still and at ease.

Viktor Nikiforov was at his element as he reached to pull his pocket square, wiping away the sprays of blood that painted his gun and hand, discarding the piece of cloth along with his gloves next to the lifeless body sprawled on the ground.

"Discard of the body and clean up this mess. I don't want my property to be tainted by the blood of traitors any more than this." His tone was chirpy, unbefitting of the scene that was displayed in front of him, uncaring of the shadow of fear that crossed through his men's eyes. This was the role he was meant to play, perfected after years of witnessing death and taking lives.

Viktor was slowly dying inside, the light fading from him, his flame slowly diminishing until his chest was left bare, empty of any emotions. He no longer felt anything, no longer experienced anything and his only comfort, the only moments of peace he experienced were those spent in the company of Makkachin. His girl was the only thing keeping him sane in the darkness of his life.

His steps echoed around them, the heel of his leather shoes clicking against the smooth marble as he walked away, leaving the scene of blood and death behind as if it didn't concern him.

His mask was firm on his face, his features smooth and icy blue eyes sparkled with malice. He was the image of a predator after a satisfying hunt. A psychopath who was made to take lives and stand at the top of the ladder as the leader of one of the most powerful criminal organisations in the world. Nothing could stop him, nothing could ruin him, and it was that confidence that wrapped around him in a protective aura that left him to bathe men in awe and fear.

He slipped into his chambers, allowing the door to fall shut with a silent click, the sound deafening in the silence of the moment, loud in his ringing ears before the mask crumpled, shattering into tiny fragments, untraceable and unnoticeable.

Ten years ago, Viktor would've cried tears of blood. He would've wept for the life that was stolen by his own hands, and he would've screamed for the world to make him pay for his crimes, but he was no longer the innocent child that marvelled at the beauty of the world and loved anything that sparkled. He was more of a monster than a man, a grim reaper who stole lives with mere words and a single bullet.

The exhaustion settled on his shoulders like the snow descends on the world, silently and without prior warning, but as opposed to the beauty of the world under a white carpet, there was nothing beautiful in the drop of Viktor's shoulders and the heaviness in his heart.

The sound of Makkachin's steps pounding on the ground caught his attention, perking him and easing some of the fatigue that threatened to take him, and he crouched down, opening his arms to welcome his beautiful poodle into his arms, burying his face in her fluffy fur as she licked at his face.

"I'm tired Makkachin." His words were muffled in the brown curls, his body wrapped in the warmth radiating from the dog in his arms. It was moments like this, private and soothing seconds that gave him the strength to take another step, to keep fighting when everything in him wanted to flee the life that was forced upon him. Only Makkachin could help him endure the emptiness that wrapped around him, that caged him.

"We should probably go on a holiday." His words were said jokingly, without much thought put into them, and realisation didn't dawn on him until Makkachin barked in what Viktor took as approval. Glacial blue eyes lit up, shining with excitement and mirth that Viktor didn't expect to feel. Perhaps a vacation away from all of this is what he needs, and he has wanted to take Makkachin away for some time now.

He released, the poodle, rushing to his feet and buzzing with the thrill of his unpredicted move. Nothing could give him a rush like surprising those around him, and what's a better way than going on an unexpected break. "Makka, I have to be in Barcelona in two weeks to negotiate selling arms to the Crispinos, wouldn't it be fun to spend the two weeks until then exploring the Italian countryside?"

Viktor could feel the thrill spread through him, burning him from the inside out. He couldn't wait to leave Russia and find some solace away in a foreign country. He wanted to loiter around with Makkachin, to shop in Barcelona and visit all the tourists' spots. Viktor could imagine meeting someone exciting, a fellow tourist or perhaps a local and fall in love with them as they spend the entirety of their time together.

He knew that what awaited him wasn't the fantasy he was conjuring in his head, that meeting someone and falling in love is merely a movie plot and not a romance story that occurs in the real world. Viktor had always been a romantic, and to him, nothing would be more passionate than falling in love on vacation in Italy, except perhaps, falling in love under the Eifel tower. He didn't expect for his dream to turn into reality, but a man could dream, and he couldn't wait for the surprises that waited for him away from his bare life.

 

♥


	2. Chapter 2

**♥**  
  
**•• » Yuuri « ••**

 

In a world of blood and violence, rules dictate one's life just as they shape one's entire existence. It is these laws that save that soldier's life, just as they are the ones that strip them away from their future. Yuuri was born in the darkness of the night, the sound of his first cry was muffled by the sound of raindrops against their roof, drowned by the joyful shouts of the Yakuza's men and the buried sorrow of his parents. Katsuki Toshiya and Hiroko gave birth to a caged bird, shackled him to the world of organised crime by his very being.

It was a tragedy that he has accepted the very first moment he savoured the weight of the gun as it rested in his small hand. He wasn't mature enough to understand the consequences of that choice, but he was old enough to know that it was what his life would revolve around, just like his father's day revolved around leading the Katsuki syndicate.

Yuuri might not have been old enough to understand, but as he grew up and matured, he shed the lies and admitted the truth that everyone refused to speak. It wasn't his birth that sealed his fate as Yakuza, it wasn't his lineage or his parents; Yuuri knew that if he ever asked, his parents loved him too much to cage him to their bloody life. The nine years old boy might not have understood what he chose, but it was that very decision that sealed his fate. It was the choice that he would regret the most.

There was no escaping the life he was born into, not after taking someone's life. Yuuri watched the light leave the man eyes, his soul drifting out along with his spilt blood and as he kneeled over and sullied the ground with his dinner, the weight of his guilt settled inside of him, filling the emptiness in his chest. He was trained to kill, but he wasn't prepared for the reality of it, for the weight that held him down. It was a moment ingrained in his memory, one that fed his demons.

It was that nightmarish night, that moment that gave power to the monster inside of him, beating Yuuri after every turn, cursing him and spitting venomous words at him until he was rendered back to the shy boy he was, hiding under his sheets for days to come. He was left alone to replay that moment until he was empty, dehydrated and his tears had run dry. Only then did he accept his reality.

He was Katsuki Yuuri, he was a criminal. He was a killer. He was the future Wakagashira.

There was no more pondering after that. As Yuuri pulled himself out of his bed, he stood up, and he transformed from an innocent boy with eyes that sparkled with joy, into a quiet man that took lives with a mask of steel and buried fears. He never spoke of his concerns, but he allowed himself to die with every victim, just as he let the humour to drift away with his tears. No matter how many times he killed, no matter how many times he watched life fade away, Yuuri would never grow used to it, just as the nightmares would never cease to haunt him.

He was Katsuki Yuuri, and he hated himself.

There were rare moments when that thought would evaporate as if it never existed. Moments were Yuuri felt free from the world of the Yakuza. At that instant he wasn't Katsuki Yuuri, he was a boy who loved to dance, and a man who found solace in the crashing of the waves against the white sand. He sought that peace, desired the fantasy of a world without violence, but it never came while in Japan, only when he'd step foot on foreign soil.

The cloud of harmony descended upon him, wrapping him in a blanket of warmth that silenced his anxious thoughts the moment Yuuri' hotel room door fell closed with a click. Everything fell into place, the world forgotten, abandoned as he basked in the peacefulness of it all. His mission was pushed to the back of his head, replaced with a quiet that he clung to with desperation and hunger.

Yuuri stood there, basking in the sunlight streaming through the open window, inhaling the scent of clean sheets and the breeze that danced into the room. That was his moment, his to cherish, his to enjoy and he embraced every bit of it. It was perfect in the way that it calmed him, assured him, but it was still with its flaw in the way that he felt incomplete, longing for more.

He wished to ease the yearning, hoped to fill in the gaps, to turn the perfection into a masterpiece, and it was that exact feeling that washed away the ease in his heart, that reminded him of the reality of his life. In two days, Yuuri would need to start preparing for his mission, a mission he never expected to accomplish unscathed.

What would he be leaving behind? A family that adored him, and a single friend that acknowledged him. He was the perfect person for this mission, if for no other factor besides the reality that he wouldn't be missed if he died. The people in his life would be able to move on smoothly, he'd be mourned, but his memory would fade away painlessly.

It was as comforting as it was depressing.

He longed to love someone and to be loved in return. He desired to be missed and craved. He wanted to be unforgettable.

But he was none of that, he was Yuuri Katsuki. He wasn't unique, he was ordinary and easily disregarded. He was no one.

The beauty of the moment was long forgotten, the harmony that wrapped around him minutes ago was blown away by the storm of anxiety that raged inside of him. The walls were slowly closing upon him.

He needed to escape. He needed to dance. He needed a drink.

In that mindset, Yuuri wasn't opposed to going home with someone, he craved the touch of another person, longed for the warmth of a body next to him. He wanted to be with someone, to feel desired, if only for once in his life.

Yuuri walked to the bathroom, feeling a chill travelling through him as he stepped on the cold marble, stripping off his clothes that reeked of sweat and the distinctive stench of the airport; that unique mixture of stall food and chemicals that one could easily identify as the scent of the terminal. To some, it was home, but not to Yuuri who despised it.

He craved the heat of the onsen, wished he was home to take a soak that would ease some of the tension building in his shoulders. The bath of a hotel would never amount to the comfort of his family's hot spring, so Yuuri settled for a shower.

The pitter-patter of the water as it hit the shower floor was a melody that calmed him, soothed his senses and brought back some of the peace. Yuuri stepped under the raining water, allowing the drops to hit his skin and descend down his body in a gentle caress. He stood there for what could've been minutes or hours, and he didn't care to check the time. The sun was hidden away, replaced by the moon and that was all Yuuri needed.

No one would know that Yuuri took longer to dress that night, nor would they ever know that he cared about what he wore.

As he walked out of the hotel, hair slicked back, glasses discarded for contacts, and dressed in jeans, a button-down shirt and waistcoat; Yuuri was nothing like his usual soft looking self in glasses and with messy hair.

He welcomed the change, welcomed the silence of his thoughts and embraced the coolness of the nights. His steps were poised, confident as he sought to find a club and feed his desires.

Yuuri was going to drink his demons away.

Yuuri was going to dance the night away.

And if Yuuri caught someone's eyes, who was he to deny himself the touch of another?

 

**• ♠ •**  
  
**•• » Viktor « ••**

 

The room was filled with life, vibrating with the emotions, warm with the bodies of people crowding around, dancing, drinking, hardly talking. The music washed over them, loud as it wrapped the club in a bubble of noise, muffling the voices of the men and women, and beating against the walls. It was dark, the only light was that of small spotlights and laser beams glowing around them.

Viktor loved it all, the drumming music, the glasses of alcohol passed around, and the bodies moving to the rhythm of the beat, just as he enjoyed the attention focused on him. He could feel the eyes following him, watching him, and he could sense the desire that filled the gazes directed to him.

As Viktor stood there, he wasn't the Pakhan, he wasn't Viktor Nikiforov, he was another guy in for another wild night filled with dancing and drinks, even the promise of a body underneath him. The dance floor smelled of sweat, perfume and alcohol, but Viktor didn't care, not with the warmth of the bodies swaying, not with the glass of vodka waiting for him.

The song came to an end, giving life to another upbeat that Viktor despised, and his body lost any desire for more, lost the joy of dancing. He untangled himself, moving between the figures to the crowded bar and even as he did that the eyes followed, watched, tracked. He was slowly getting tired from the same cadence. Barcelona was meant to be more, different than Russia, but this scene was the same.

Where was the man of his dreams? Wasn't Barcelona meant to be the place where they finally meet?

He wasn't unreasonable with his fantasies, was he?

Viktor only wanted to meet someone who'd see beyond his mask. A person who'd accept him and his life.

He didn't miss the look on the bartender as he prepared his drink, didn't miss the way the guy undressed him with his eyes, didn't miss the flirtatious tone of his voice as he stated that Viktor's drink is on the house. The smile he drew on his face was plastic, a mask that he was growing tedious of wearing even as Viktor returned the flirting with a wink. The bartender was good looking, blonde hair, sharp jaw and blue eyes. He had the kind of beauty that was typical in Russia and in Europe in general, but his eyes were cold, distant, dead. Viktor wanted more, wanted to go home with someone who shines with life, someone whom eyes sparkle with untold stories.

The passage of time slowly grew tedious, boring and uneventful, the looks that were exciting merely hours ago started to feel like a weight that settled on his shoulders and burdened him with unwanted attention. Viktor could feel the loneliness slowly creeping back into his chest, a cold hand that left him empty and drained. With the last glass of alcohol in his hand, Viktor found an empty stool to drop his weight on, giving his aching feet a break after hours of standing and dancing.

If he didn't spot his fated lover by the time he finished his drink, his time in the club would come to a halt. Icy blue eyes darted around the room, scanning the occupants on the bar, nothing was captivating, nothing was catching his interest and his gaze settled on the person seated next to him. Raven hair, cute face, lean athletic build and well dressed; he was normal, and Viktor was on the verge of looking away when their eyes met, and he was caught in the spell of his eyes. A warm brown with golden specks, a gem so priceless they gave meaning to his night with a single look. The stranger's eyes were like nothing Viktor has ever seen before, and he has seen the world.

How ridiculous was he to consider this man normal?

How silly of him to have overlooked him for even a moment?

His eyes spoke of untold stories, full of lies, full of beauty and Viktor was hooked, caged to that gaze.

He wanted nothing more than to drown in the copper of his eyes, just as he wished to never look away.

Viktor was on a new mission to get the beautiful stranger's phone number.

 

**• ♠ •**

  
**•• » Yuuri « ••**

 

Yuuri couldn't understand why did he believe that he would catch anyone's eyes, even if it were a mere moment, he should've known the thought was unreasonable. The raven wasn't good looking, he wasn't charming, and surely no one would want to speak to someone who came to a nightclub without any friends; who would trust him not to be a serial killer?

Yuuri's fingers brushed the base of the glass, feeling the smoothness of the surface under his skin, and tracking the edge with his touch. It was his third drink, another sugary beverage that hid the bitterness of the alcohol behind sweetness and vibrant colours.

He didn't know what he was still doing there, not when the voice in his head was spitting poison at him, not when every minute grew heavier. He was no longer interested in the prospect of drinking, nor in dancing and Yuuri knew that there was no chance of going home with someone today, not when he was... him, ordinary, dull, Katsuki Yuuri.

The sigh that left his lips was heavy, loaded with the anxiety and tension building up inside of him, weighing on him. The drink tasted syrupy as Yuuri picked up the glass and downed the rest of the blue liquid, prepared to abandon all his earlier ambition and bravado in exchange for a peaceful night in a warm bed when he felt the gaze trained on him.

Yuuri was no stranger to being observed, not when he grew up under the Yakuza, not when he spent his whole life under the watchful, protective eyes of the Katsuki syndicate men, but as that moment was different. Strange in the way that it was the gaze of a stranger, unusual in the way that it lingered more than usual and Yuuri couldn't resist but turn to look at the occupant of the seat next to him, meeting the bluest eyes he's ever seen.

The questioning words that were on the tips of his tongue were swallowed, his thoughts fading away and the upbeat music of the club hushed down into nothing but white noise, forgotten, ignored. The frostiness of the gaze froze the world around them, captivating Yuuri's attention. He was looking at the most beautiful man he's ever seen with sharp features and hair as fair as the moonlight.

For a moment Yuuri considered the possibility of his death, the chance that he was drunk. A man as stunning as the one looking at him would've long looked away, why would someone such as him look at someone as ordinary as Yuuri?

"I'm Viktor." The words interrupted Yuuri's chain of thoughts, and their gazes broke, his attention shifting to the hand offered to him.

"Uh..." Yuuri could hear his heart pounding in his chest, could hear the blood rushing in his veins and he could feel the heat spreading through him as a blush crept on his cheeks, painting them in a shade of red. "I'm Kat... I mean I'm Yuuri, yeah, Yuuri. Nice to meet you, Viktor." There was no hiding the way his hands flailed as he corrected himself, no masking his nerves as he shook Viktor's hands and Yuuri expected the other man to turn around and find someone else to talk to. He certainly didn't expect the bright smile, nor the twinkle of his eyes as Viktor pressed a kiss to Yuuri's knuckles.

"May I have this dance, Yuuri?"

Who was he to deny this man such a request?

 

**♥**


End file.
